


Lazy Morning Loving

by ConsultingWriter



Series: A Balanced Trinity [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Cabin!Lock, Cabinlock-Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Cabinlock, First attempt at anything remotely related to smut ever, I get points for trying, I really need a better title for this, I tried-I really did, Lazy Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Polygamy, Right?, Rimming, Some fluff at the beginning and end, Tattoos, This might become a series, Threesome, but I'm not, i should be sorry, smut(?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingWriter/pseuds/ConsultingWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Crieff wakes up in his favorite place. The bed he shares with his lovers; and do they give him something to wake up to.</p><p>Smut...or, my first attempt at it, at least.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazy Morning Loving

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so--I decided to lady up and grow a pair and try my hand at smut like I'd been wanting to do for a while, and of course--being the masochist I am--my brain decided that this is what it should write. A threesome. For my first attempt at smut. Yeah. 
> 
> Um, I hope you like it. Review and tell me what you think. If you have any pointers, don't hesitate to leave a comment or PM me or something, I'd like to ~~write panty melting porn~~ get better at this

Martin was pulled from his sleep by a harsh blaring in his ears and groaned sadly, shuffling downwards on the bed; trying valiantly to burrow further into the thick pile of blankets. When the blaring continued he whined and turned his head, nuzzling into his surprisingly stiff pillow.

He cracked a bleary eye open when his pillow rumbled with a deep amused chuckle. A strong hand tangled in his hair and stroked his scalp.

“Go back to bed, it’s just Sherlock setting off the fire alarm.” His pillow murmured, stroking his head gently.

The airline Captain hummed, settled a hand over his pillow’s steadily thumping heart, and did just that; drifting in and out of consciousness every once in a while, never sinking into a deep sleep but happily catching up on rest any way he could.

He ignored the soft creak of the door opening. He didn’t--couldn't--ignore the long, chilly, fingers that settled over his bare stomach or the long body that tucked itself over his from behind. He trembled at the hand's coolness but slid his hand from its position on his pillow to cover and intertwine with the digits on his stomach.

There was a faint sound of the smacking of one set of lips pecking another before he felt the press of puckered lips pushing a dry peck against his own bare shoulder blade. He smiled when he felt a warm, calloused, hand—shorter than the one under his, but thicker—cover the hands that lay clasped on his stomach and intertwined with the tangle of fingers.

This was a perfect way to spend the morning. Slowly he opened his eyes and yawned, raising the entangled hands to his mouth to cover his mouth.

“Morning, John. Morning, Sherlock,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Morning, baby,” John hummed, watching has Martin’s face went red. Sherlock chuckled from behind Martin and shot the ex-soldier a raised eyebrow. John grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Sherlock returned the grin with a sly smirk of his own and lowered his lips to brush against Martin’s ear “Morning, sweetheart,” he breathed darkly, watching with amusement as the smaller man squeaked and blushed harder, matching his lovely flame locks perfectly.

Martin squirmed in between them and rolled onto his stomach, hiding his head in the pillows with a flushed pout, “Hate you,” he mumbled sulkily as his lovers chuckled at his embarrassment.

He felt the bodies on either side of him sliding down further on the bed, heads coming to rest on both of his shoulders. John’s head settled on top of the shoulder that was holding their joined hands up over his head while Sherlock’s was buried smoothly into the hollow of his neck.

“No you don’t.” John said sexily, mouthing at his ear and sliding a tongue around the shell. Martin held back a moan, jutting his lip out to pout farther.

On his other side, Sherlock was nipping gently at his lob and the spot behind his ear in random patterns “I do believe you love us,” he purred as he ran a foot up and down the inside of Martin’s calves.

“I lied when I said that.” Martin said firmly, trying his hardest to ignore the arousing touches.

Sherlock chuckled “As if you could ever lie to me, Martin.”

John snorted “As if he could lie to anyone,” he snorted again when Martin turned his head to glare at him “You’re surprisingly bad a deceit babe, for someone whose husband is Sherlock Holmes.”

Martin huffed “You aren’t much better and he’s your husband too.”

John looked at him with falsely innocent eyes “I’m a doctor; I’m not supposed to lie.”

They stared at each other for a second more before bursting into giggles. Behind them Sherlock smiled indulgently, he really had been getting better with emotions since beginning to see both John and Martin romantically.

His mouth went slack with lust when the giggles deceased and his husbands found themselves in—as John so casually referred to it as—a game of “high stakes tonsil hockey”. Breathing began to grow heavy as the two rolled on their side to face each other, pressing their chests together but keeping their groins apart. The detective swallowed, untangled his hand from Martin’s and John’s and reached across Martin to grasp John’s arse and used it to pull the army doctor closer, sandwiching Martin in between. He lowered his head to the long pale neck and began to kiss and nip at it, moving down from right under the ear to the base and across the collarbone to come to a stop at the ball of Martin’s smooth shoulder, he kissed it once, twice, a third time before sinking his teeth into the flesh just hard enough for the airline Captain to wrenched his mouth away from John’s and let out a cry of pleasure.

Sherlock looked up from his place on Martin’s shoulder and met John’s eyes briefly, he shot his eyes downward and then back up to meet the doctor’s once more. The corner of his lips lifted into a smile when John nodded in understanding.

Martin moaned again, eye closed in pleasure, as John latched onto a nipple. He gasped as the soldier sucked on it strongly--almost painfully--before biting down gently and letting go only to purse his lips and blow a steady stream of cool air onto it, watching in satisfaction as it hardened slowly. He bent his head back and licked at it with broad swipes of his tongue before latching onto it once more and beginning the process again. He only stopped when it was pebbled and tight. Then he switched to the other.

He nuzzled his cheek against it softly, teasing it slowly with soft brushes from his cheeks and lips, waiting for Martin to break. He held back a grin when the pilot finally whined and arched his chest into the doctor’s face while long fingered hands clutched at his head and held him in place. He started with a series of short, sucking kisses that left the pink bud wetter and wetter every time he pulled off. Again he pulled back and blew a stream of air onto the little pink bud and chuckled as it quickly hardened. Martin’s nipples were so sensitive. John briefly wondered how the ginger would react to getting his nipples pierced; he practically salivated at the thought of the straight laced, by-the-book airline Captain with silver bars in his lovely little pink buds under his blue Captain’s uniform. He would definitely have to bring it up with Sherlock at a later date.

As John worked over Martin’s nipples, Sherlock moved slowly down the younger man’s back; taking time to plant kisses and nips on every vertebrae he could. Finally he reached his favorite marking on Martin’s body. His “tramp stamp” as John teasingly called it just to watch the younger man blush. Across the small of his back— starting right above the swell of his arse, where it could peak provocatively at Sherlock when Martin’s shirt rode up or his faded jeans shimmied down his slim hips— was the chemical compound for jet fuel.

He smiled softly and started to trace the lines with his tongue listening to the hitch in his lover’s breath, chuckling when one hand dropped out of John’s dishwater hair to curl in his own wild locks as a wild sob tore itself from the pilot’s throat. While his tongue traced the lines and hexagonal shapes he reached down and grasped a boney ankle and pushed up, forcing the leg to bend at the knee—which wasn’t very hard, seeing as Martin was completely lax and on the verge of a sensory overload (and the thought made the detective smirk, they were about to push the pilot over the edge in a minuet and the lust soaked ginger didn’t even have a clue)—and lifted, throwing the leg up and over John’s—who was now at Martin’s hips as well—shoulder to give the consultant the room he was going to need for his next move.

John stopped his downward decent from Martin’s nipples to suck lightly at the sunken navel that sat a few inches above the beginning of his pubic hair. He nipped briefly at the rim before sinking his tongue in and flicking it in and out of the crevice sloppily, letting his saliva pool in the hole. Slowly, ever so slowly, he half cover the concave with his mouth as well as some of the flesh below it and sucked, slurping the saliva that had pooled there back into his mouth with an obscene wet sound that—combined with what Sherlock was doing to the smaller man’s lower back—caused his hips to stutter and a short, choppy gasp to leave his mouth.

With a grin he moved away from the cute little hole and continued towards his goal, only to stop once more at his favorite make on Martin’s body. In the fleshy cradle between his pelvic bone and his groin—right underneath his trouser line—lay a tattoo of the top view of an old fighter jet with the RAMC insignia on the biggest part of either wing instead of the bulls-eyes on the tips. Gently he mouthed at the flesh, nipping and sucking lightly.

Finally he pulled himself away and moved towards his target, taking note that Sherlock and hitched Martin’s leg over his—John’s—shoulder and grinned slyly. This was going to be good.

Without giving the dazed pilot any warning, the ex-army Captain gripped his hips and sank down on him to the root, burying his nose in the ginger curls that surrounded the long, slim, cock. He pulled back, swirling his tongue torturously slow around the head like a child with a lollipop before sinking down once more, sliding his tongue along the vein on the underside. He repeated the action a few more times before pulling off completely, taking a minute to look over his saliva coated handy work before dipping back down and sucking back down with loud, filthy slurps that caused him to moan, slightly proud of his work, sending vibrations down the cock in his mouth that had the man above him crying out and twisting fingers in John’s hair. He pulled back and tongued the slit, licking up drops of pre-come like it was melting ice cream, as a distraction for what Sherlock was about to do.

Sherlock felt a wave of lust crash through him at Martin’s cry as John suckled at the tip of his rod and the dark haired man growled lowly. Reaching down he parted the cheeks that lay in front of his face and angled himself before snaking out a tongue and swiping a long wet strip from his bollocks to the puckered entrance that rested between the two globes of flesh. The feeling caused the pilot’s hips to jerk forward in surprise as he let out a loud yelp.

Humming to himself, Sherlock quickly set about loosening the tightly clenched entrance with teasing broad swipes and short, spearing dips into the quivering rim. Ignoring his own aching erection the detective moved large hands to hold the pale globes of flesh apart as he buried his face farther in between them, sinking his tongue into the quivering pink hole and lapping at as much of the velvet insides as his short muscle could reach.

Above him Martin whined, hips rolling in jerky movements, unable to decide rather to rock back onto Sherlock’s probing tongue or to push forward into John’s wet, heated, mouth.

Just then Sherlock sucked at the ring of muscles and groaned out his own lusty pleasure, causing John to gasp around Martin’s prick in reaction to the breathy sound.

A tanned hand reached up to brush gently at the bollocks that were pulled tight against the cock in his mouth. Neither grabbing nor pulling away, the fingers simply brushed along the sack, pulling another whine from the red head’s throat. The doctor pulled back until only the penis’s head was in his mouth and then firmly grasped the sack in his hands and rolled them smoothly in his hand when the pilot started to thrash helplessly, mumbling nothing but “Please, please, please, please, please,” in a needy, ragged voice. He sucked harder, briefly noticing the raven haired man’s jaw working profusely at Martin’s entrance, working to bring him to his peak.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I-I-oh!-I’m comiiing!” the pilot wailed, body taunt and stretched like a bow’s string, muffling himself with a fist stuffed into his mouth as his hips stuttered helplessly.

As the airline Captain’s body fell slack against the bed Sherlock pulled away from his treat—now slightly red from abuse and slick and shining from spit—to tug roughly at his own prick. Three rough, desperate strokes had him curling in on himself and coming hard enough to see stars as he coated the backs and insides of the milky thighs that lay in front of him.

At Martin’s front, John was doing the same, rolling his bollocks in one hand and jerking himself in the other, coating Martin’s thighs for a second time before joining him in a state of glazed contentment.

The three men lay on the bed panting and sweating but intertwined all the same. When Sherlock finally got enough air in his lungs he glanced up at the ginger haired man “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Martin groaned at the pet name but smiled with a blush creeping up his cooling neck “Love you Sherlock, love you John.”

John rolled to the side and snagged the pajama pants that discarded where Sherlock had left them and moved to clean his and Sherlock’s drying cum from the Captain’s thighs.

“We’re going to need a shower,” he remarked casually and smiled at Martin’s response of “Later, ‘m tired again.”

With gentle, methodical movements John cleaned the mess from the younger man’s thighs. When they were clean he used a bare hand to stoke tenderly at the tattoo that lay on the inside of the left thigh (about four inches above the knee), Martin’s favorite of the three markings that adorned his body. A small hand gun—a Sig Sauer to be precise—sitting in a glass pill bottle.

With a small smile he propped his head up on Martin’s hip and tenderly tangled his hand in Sherlock’s hair, giving him a deep kiss with Martin’s taste still on his lips.

“Thank you for finding him,” he murmured to the detective, who stroked his cheek lovingly in response.

“I think we need to thank him for giving us a chance, for loving both of us,” Sherlock replied quietly as his hand slipped from John’s cheek to stroke at the plane tattoo at Martin’s groin, thinking about the three identical tattoos that covered both his and John’s body and the day they got them; a rush a warm love and happy contentment rushed through him. He never would’ve imagined, even during the best highs of his life, that he’d be fortunate to love and be loved not by one but two such beautiful people.

**Author's Note:**

> This might become a series, depending on what people think, so review yeah?


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